Harry Potter and the Quest of the Centaur
by Gryffinpuff
Summary: An impatient author attempts to write Book 7 before it's complete! Harry continues his search for the Horcruxes, but he can't do it alone. With help from his friends, can he finally defeat HeWhoMustNotBeNamed, once and for all?
1. The Reluctant Guest

Number Four, Privet Drive, was on fire.

It wasn't actually on fire, though to ask anyone who lived there one would think the house held a gateway to the surface of the sun itself. The residents of Little Whinging were currently combating a severe heat wave that had lasted the past three weeks, and they were not winning. Sales of air conditioners and fans in local tool shops had risen so drastically that the shopkeepers were in danger of running out. Flowers and gardens all along the street lay withered and brown, but for once the Neighborhood Commission was not doing much; they were all busy fighting their own battles against the oppressive heat.

Three of the occupants of Number Four were currently out of the house, and would be for quite some time. When the youngest, Harry, had returned home from school weeks early and explained all about how his headmaster had been murdered, and that Voldemort, the most feared wizard in the world, was more than likely going to be coming for him any day, the Dursleys had wasted no time in hurriedly packing and spending some time on holiday. Harry was frustrated, though not altogether disappointed or even surprised, that they hadn't even had the decency to tell him where they were going (they probably wouldn't know themselves until they arrived at wherever it was), or how long they were staying (indefinitely), or even goodbye (which, in Harry's case, would have been a poor substitute for "so long, been nice to ignore and neglect you for the past sixteen years"). Harry did have one stroke of good luck: Uncle Vernon had been in such a hurry to leave that he had completely overlooked the fact that he had dropped a fifty-pound note in the hall just before closing the front door. Harry had been relieved; he wasn't going to be rich, by any means, but fifty pounds would go a long way to feed a sixteen-year-old for the next several weeks.

At first, Harry had relished living by himself: no longer tethered to the schedule of the rest of the family, he could go to bed and wake up any time he pleased, and he was a slave to no one. After a while, though, the new-found feeling of personal freedom was not so novel as to completely hide his growing feeling of anxiety. Every day that crept by until his seventeenth birthday felt like one day closer to his funeral, and Harry could not resist replaying the events of the last few weeks.

_It all boils down to Snape…_he thought one morning, lying in bed when he ought to have been enjoying the day outside. The sun was again overly warm and bright, but he could not bring himself to enjoy the weather; it seemed to be a searing, unrelenting blanket of hot fury that nearly suffocated him.

_If he hadn't betrayed everyone…even himself…none of this would have happened…Dumbledore and Sirius and my mum and dad would all still be alive, and we'd all be having fun as a family…_

His reverie was interrupted with a knock at the front door. He yawned and got up and dressed, thinking it might be the postman with a package or something. It came as a complete surprise, then, when through the peephole he saw the unmistakable forms of Severus Snape and Draco Malfoy.

Harry's heart raced with fury. He could not believe the sheer audacity of the man he hated most in the world simply showing up, unannounced, on his, Harry's, doorstep. With a wave of seething anger, he flung open the door with his wand out, determined to hex Snape into complete oblivion. But before Harry could utter a single word, Snape flicked his wand, and Harry found himself under a Silencing Charm, unable to speak.

Harry was livid. He briefly considered just tossing his wand away and punching Snape, but Snape appeared to be expecting a reaction from Harry and seemed to steel himself. Draco, for his part, was looking anywhere but at Harry, and Harry felt another surge of intense dislike, though part of it was mingled with a slight twinge of pity.

"Potter," sneered Snape. "I would have expected no less of a response from you. Always thinking first and asking questions later. Do you expect us to stand here all day?"

Harry stood rooted to the spot. He was not about to invite Snape and Draco into his house if he could at all help it. He stared furiously at Snape, who rolled his eyes in irritation. "Alright, Harry, look," said Snape, nearly whining. "Just let us in, and I'll explain."

Harry's anger was abated slightly with his sudden confusion. Did Snape just call him by his first name? What in Merlin's name was going on? Harry begrudgingly opened the door a little wider and motioned for the two Slytherins to enter.

"Wotcher, Harry," said Snape as he led Draco into the foyer. Something clicked in Harry's mind, and he caught on. He pointed wordlessly to his mouth, and Snape waved his wand, undoing the spell.

"What are you doing here, Tonks?" asked Harry, for it was indeed Tonks, disguised as Snape.

"I'm undercover," said Tonks. The form of Snape dissolved, and resolved into Tonks' normal appearance. Her purple hair was short and spiky, and although she couldn't be called anything like cheerful, Harry noticed she was looking at least a little less unhappy than usual. "You wouldn't believe how hard this has been. Had to toughen up my Occlumency, work on my potions, even had to strengthen up my Memory Charms. Speaking of which…" said Tonks, pointing her wand directly at Draco. At once, Draco's eyes glazed over with the telltale sign of having his memory modified. "And that's nothing compared to the Simulacrus."

"Simulacrus?" asked Harry, puzzled.

"It's the charm we use for pretending to be other people. Certain personal habits…ways of talking…It's what we use when we can't actually ask the person, because Polyjuice Potion takes forever to brew. I can only make myself look different, I can't actually look like another person. A Simulacrus won't stand up to much scrutiny – I'd be lost if someone were to ask me about anything that might have happened in school– but it'll do in a pinch," explained Tonks. Harry was markedly reminded of what had happened to Mad-Eye Moody in his fourth year and frowned.

"Er…I don't really want to be rude, Tonks…" he started.

Tonks snorted. "But you're about to say something rude, aren't you?"

"You do realize that I hate Malfoy, right?" asked Harry.

Tonks sighed. "Yes, Harry, of course, and I'm not saying I blame you, he's a right foul little git, but…Harry, Dumbledore _did_ offer him protection. If you really don't want him here, we'll find somewhere else, but right now, this is probably the safest place for him."

"How could he possibly be safe here?" Harry wondered.

"Because the protection that guards you will apply to him as long as he's there as your guest. We know your aunt and uncle are out of town, so you'll be left alone. And we took his wand. We can't trust him at all."

"But…why here?"

"It's for his own good, Harry. Look, we've taken care of everything, it's only a week 'til you're of age and then you can both leave. We'll send someone along tomorrow with some of his things."

Harry's jaw was set resolutely, but he sighed and nodded. "I'm not playing nursemaid to him."

Tonks paused and inhaled, thinking. "Alright. I suppose we can fix that. Don't you still own Kreacher?"

Harry grimaced. The thought of Kreacher stooping about his house, muttering threats and insults about him and his friends, caused him no end of torment, but there _was_ a house-elf he could trust. "Kreacher?" he called. Two seconds later, the lowly house-elf appeared, hunched and feeble.

Kreacher turned, ignoring Tonks and Harry completely, and stared at Malfoy reverently. "Young Master Malfoy!" he croaked. "Kreacher has been hoping for something good to happen to Kreacher, but Kreacher did not expect such as this!"

"Kreacher!" barked Harry. "Go back to Hogwarts and tell Dobby I'd like to see him."

Kreacher's glee at seeing Malfoy turned to disgust at Harry's orders. "Kreacher must obey Master," said Kreacher, bowing, then whispered, "but Master is a horrible boy who does not deserve to lick the boots of Young Master Malfoy."

"Go, Kreacher!" shouted Harry. With a final look of utter disgust, Kreacher disappeared with a small _pop_.

Malfoy had chosen that moment to awaken from his memory charm-induced stupor. His grey eyes flashed, and his face glowed. "Potter! What are you doing?" he shouted. His hand moved quickly to draw his wand, but he groped futilely; his wand was nowhere to be found. Malfoy's eyes flew wide open in shock. "What have you done with my wand?" he demanded. He looked around in panic, finally noticing Tonks. "And who the ruddy hell are _you_? Hold on a moment. I know you. You're related to me, aren't you? You're that Nymphadora Tonks."

Tonks winced at hearing her first name. "I'll be your executioner if you don't shut up, Draco," she snapped. "We've got your mother alive, and that's all you get." She turned to Harry. "Harry, I can only turn a deaf ear and a blind eye to so much, y'know. Try not to get carried away. I'll bring Remus back for lunch. If you need anything before that, send us an owl. Hope you can cope. I'll leave you to it." With a disgruntled look at Malfoy, she Disapparated.

Malfoy seemed to be offended beyond words. "So, I suppose you think –" he snarled, but Harry interrupted him. "Malfoy, I'm about six seconds away from cursing you into next year, but Tonks said not to get carried away. Make sure you're not going to say anything you're going to regret."

Malfoy stared at Harry with intense loathing, but seemed to be choosing his words carefully. "Am I at least allowed a bed, or do I have to sleep on the floor like some savage?" he growled.

"You're allowed to shut up and be patient for a minute," shot Harry. Harry and Malfoy stood in silence for the next few moments. Harry could only imagine what must have been running through Malfoy's head, and was enjoying the fact that he, Harry, was in total control of Malfoy's immediate future.

Malfoy glowered at Harry. "My father – " he started, but Harry, who was determined not to let Malfoy get the upper hand, interrupted him.

"Your father deserves every bit of what he got, Malfoy," said Harry, fuming.

"He didn't have a choice! He was only doing it for my mother and me," said Malfoy defensively.

But, this, apparently, was quite the wrong thing to say. "OH, YES HE DID!" shouted Harry. "HE SHOULD HAVE DIED RATHER THAN SELL OUT TO LORD VOLDEMORT!"

Malfoy was momentarily silent. Harry took advantage of the lapse to continue his tirade. "I'm a lot of things, Malfoy, but I'm not stupid, and neither is Voldemort. Your father has been loyal to Voldemort because they both like power. Well, so what? Who cares about power?"

Malfoy looked startled. "What do you mean, who cares about power? Everyone cares about power, even you, Potty. How could you not?"

Harry shrugged. "I don't really care about having power. There are more important things in the world."

Malfoy snorted in disbelief. "Like what?"

Harry stared Malfoy down. "Friends. Having fun. Freedom. Standing up for what you believe in. Sacrifice."

Harry and Malfoy were spared more insults by the sudden appearance of Dobby. Dobby bowed low and beamed at Harry. Harry's angry expression cleared at once.

"Dobby is most happy Harry Potter wishes to see him, for Dobby has been wishing to see Harry Potter," said Dobby with suppressed mirth.

Harry managed a smile. "Dobby, how would you like to work for me for a bit? I'll give you a Galleon to work for me for a week."

Dobby's eyes shone bright, and his toothy smile broke into a wide grin. "Dobby would be most pleased, Harry Potter! But…Harry Potter…Dobby is not sure. What will Harry Potter do about Draco Malfoy?"

Harry shook his head. "Don't worry about him, I've got everything under control."

Dobby bowed again. "Then Dobby would be honored to work for Harry Potter. What should Dobby do for Harry Potter?"

Harry grinned. "I have an idea."


	2. Endings and Beginnings

CHAPTER TWO

ENDS AND BEGINNINGS

_Love can do all but raise the Dead._

_-Emily Dickinson_

With Dobby's help, Harry managed not to completely murder Malfoy over the course of the next few days by making sure that they were not within each other's sight at any time. Remus had appeared every day for a quick meal or two, once or twice even accompanied by Tonks. Harry definitely noticed a spark or two flying between them, and was secretly glad for them both.

But what had started as a calm and controlled week was progressing from mediocre to worse. Harry could not keep his mood from slipping into a rotten funk. The day before he was to turn seventeen and be of legal age in the wizarding world, Harry was still lying in his bed at lunchtime, filled with trepidation. He could not suppress a feeling of deep dread that seemed to fill his chest with ice and his stomach with lead. Two letters, one each from Ron and Hermione, had arrived earlier in the day, but he had not had the energy to even get out of bed and open them, let alone read and reply to them.

A dull knock at the door interrupted Harry's self-induced agonizing. "Harry Potter, sir," called Dobby, timidly. "May Dobby come in?"

Harry groaned and blinked, not really sure if he wanted the elf's company, but decided that there was no harm in letting the odd little creature come in. "Yeah, Dobby," Harry replied apathetically.

Dobby opened the door and crept in slowly. "Harry Potter, sir…today is the end of the week," he hesitated.

Harry turned his head to look at Dobby and raised an eyebrow. "Yeah, it is."

Dobby's large eyes shone at Harry. "Harry Potter, sir…today is the day Dobby is getting paying, please," he reminded Harry.

Harry sighed. He had promised. "Alright, alright," he moaned. "Hold on a sec, I'll get up."

With a great heave, Harry got out of bad, still in his pajamas, and fished in his trunk for his bag of gold. He reached in, pulled out two golden Galleons, and handed them both to Dobby. Dobby's bright eyes sparkled. "Harry Potter, sir," said Dobby uncertainly, "is this meaning Dobby is to be staying another week?"

Despite himself, Harry smiled weakly. "Nah, I just like to show my appreciation, Dobby. If lunch is ready, you can go ahead and go if you like, I think I can handle it until tomorrow."

Dobby's great eyes twinkled with delight. "Harry Potter is a great and generous wizard who is too kind to Dobby! Dobby will always remember Harry Potter's goodness of heart!" he exclaimed with a deep bow.

Harry grinned modestly. "Thanks, Dobby."

Dobby bowed again and disappeared with a _pop_. Harry yawned and stretched, then remembered his two letters. He opened Ron's to find a single piece of parchment instead of his usual birthday card.

_Dear Harry,_

_Happy Birthday! Look, you've got to be ready at midnight tonight, Mum says those protective wards will end at the toll of the bell and we're all coming to get you. You've got to stay here, it's the only safe place left for you. Bill and Fleur's wedding is in two weeks. Mum and Ginny have been going mad planning it all, you should see them, it's a laugh. They keep trying to rope Hermione into it, but she's no help at all, you'd think she'd never heard of a wedding before._

_Talking of Ginny, mate, I know you think you did the right thing, but are you really sure? You know, I wasn't too chuffed when you two started going out, but since you broke it off she's been coming over sad all the time and I can't stand it. Just talk to her, alright?_

_We'll see you tomorrow night. Be ready!_

_Ron_

Harry read Ron's letter with a mixture of amusement and indignation. It was unusual for Ron to take such a vested interest in Ginny's love life, especially when she had told him numerous times to keep his nose out of her business, but Ron was Harry's best friend, and Harry did not appreciate the interference. Laying the letter carefully on his dresser, he picked up Hermione's card and pored over it.

_Dear Harry,_

_Happy birthday! Hopefully, Ron's already sent his letter, so you should have received it by now. Don't forget anything when you're packing tonight; you won't be returning. Ginny and Mrs. Weasley keep asking for advice about the wedding, but I'm rubbish at that sort of thing. Those magazines they have are horrid; you wouldn't believe some of the designs in them, they're ghastly. Muggle women must be mad._

_But on another note, Harry, I need you to promise me something. I need you to promise that you won't try and leave us behind when you go, because you can't do it alone. Ron and I have written each other lots already, and we've both decided we can't let you go by yourself. I won't pretend to know what you're going through, but please promise! We love you and we don't want anything to happen to you. Please be well until tomorrow._

_Love from,_

_Hermione_

Harry's heart sank, and as he read and re-read her letter, a single tear threatened to spill from one of his eyes. He was truly touched by Hermione's affection, and it had the effect of breaking him out of his stupor. _They'd both call me an idiot for acting like this,_ he thought. _Well, yeah, Ron and Hermione would, too, but Sirius and Dumbledore would never let me just sit around like this. I've got to get a move on._

Harry spent the rest of the afternoon picking up his belongings and packing them all into his trunk as neatly as he could manage. Finally, just before seven o'clock, Harry latched his trunk and carried it downstairs, where he laid it on the floor in the hall next to Hedwig, who was sleeping with her head under her wing.

Suddenly, to Harry's dismay, there was a crunch of gravel in the driveway.

"Malfoy!" shouted Harry.

Malfoy, who had been staying in Dudley's bedroom and passing time reading the untouched books in Dudley's closet, came plodding down the stairs. Clearly, confinement had been taking its toll on the pale, drawling boy; his usual sleek blond hair was unkempt and lank, and he had been forced to wear some of Dudley's old clothes. "What, Potter?" he shot.

"Go hide in my room. The Dursleys are back early and they can't know you've been here," explained Harry.

Malfoy snorted. "Won't they notice someone was in there?"

Harry shook his head. "No, Dudders is a right slob. Go, now, before they get in here."

Malfoy rankled at the order, but turned back up the stairs and headed into Harry's room. No sooner had the upstairs door closed than the downstairs door opened, and in walked Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia, and Dudley, all laughing rather obnoxiously.

Uncle Vernon was the first to notice Harry. Instead of his usual shade of purple, however, he turned an abnormal pale, and stood rooted to the spot. It was a moment before he found his voice.

"Y-you...you're...still here...b-but...I th-thought...you'd be...be gone," Uncle Vernon managed to sputter.

"You're early," replied Harry coldly. He could almost see the wheels turning in Uncle Vernon's mind. They had miscounted their days. Harry was annoyed, but the Dursleys were utterly terrified. "You might as well find a hotel tonight and return in the morning, I'll be gone at midnight."

Uncle Vernon had heard "I'll be gone", and it was this that seemed to move him to words. "You're leaving at midnight? Don't, ah...don't you have to wait for the exact minute of your birth?"

Harry shrugged, nonplussed. "I have no idea when that was, but I'm not taking any chances. If it makes you feel any better, you'll never see me again."

"Never?" asked Uncle Vernon, sounding pleased.

"Nope. You can forget all about me, and you can tell anyone who asks that I'm in prison for the next fifteen years for larceny or something, I don't really care."

Uncle Vernon smoothed his mustache. "Don't let the door hit you on the way out," he sneered. He turned to his wife and son. "Come on, we'll stay at the Hoxton and charge it to the company. We're celebrating!"

Harry breathed a sigh of relief as the Dursleys left as quickly as they had entered. "Malfoy!" he called up the stairs. "You can come down now!"

Malfoy clattered back down the stairs and fixed Harry with a look of pure contempt. "Did the house-elf leave anything to eat for dinner?"

Harry looked in the refrigerator, saw two shepherd's pies on a large plate, and grinned.

After dinner, there was precious little to do but wait until midnight. Harry thought about attempting to try to have a bit of a regular conversation with Malfoy, but every ounce of civility he possessed seemed to be straining under Harry's resolve not to hex Malfoy into next week. Harry did feel a slight twinge of pity, mixed with remorse - if Draco had only had someone to show him the right way, instead of his father's way, perhaps his life would have turned out a bit differently. Harry did, though, think of something that had always bothered him.

"Malfoy, what's really the difference between purebloods and halfbloods? Why do purebloods hate Muggleborns?" he asked.

Malfoy, who had been sitting in silence, did not answer at first. He turned to Harry with an odd expression. "We've always hated them. They're beneath us. They're common, vulgar excuses for wizards and shouldn't be allowed to have magic at all."

Harry was not impressed with Malfoy's answer. "That's just what your father would have said. That doesn't explain it at all. Are you jealous of them being able to do magic without having been brought up to it, or are you lot just possessive of what you have and you don't want to share?"

Malfoy shrugged. "Both, I guess. The Malfoys have been purebloods for centuries, I know for a fact. We haven't turned out a Squib since my great-great-great-great Uncle Mortimer Malfoy back in 1609, and he went to the colonies."

Harry shook his head, nonplussed. "So there's no reason, really. I thought there might have been a war a long time ago or something, but it's just racism."

Malfoy sat up, stunned. "How dare you!" he spat. "We're not racists! Look at Zabini's family, he's Black and the Zabinis are purebloods back almost as far as the Malfoys!"

Harry kept going. "That's still racism. You can be racist against someone based on their family just as easily as you can based on the color of their skin. Look at Hitler."

Malfoy laughed, a shrill, sharp laugh. "Hitler was a Squib."

Harry snorted. He had learned in elementary school, in primary school, about Hitler, and that Hitler had been obsessed with magic and the occult. "You still shouldn't hate someone based on what they look like, or where they're from, or anything shallow like that." Malfoy's silence led Harry to continue. "I actually feel sorry for you lot, you purebloods. Hermione's not only the smartest in our year, but she's really nice, and she's a really good friend. I might as well be a Muggleborn, I was never brought up to know magic, but I turned out alright. And you think you're better than us just because your name is Malfoy? Look what it's given you. _Nothing_."

Malfoy's expression slowly changed from cold defiance to even colder indifference, though Harry could tell he had struck a nerve. Harry allowed himself a moment of grim satisfaction before settling in to sit and wait for the next three and a half hours. It had been a long and tiring day, and his eyelids suddenly felt heavy. _No,_ he thought quickly, _I mustn't sleep, Malfoy might try something. Just resting my eyes for a moment..._

He found himself walking outside in the dark on a cold, lifeless ground. No trees, no buildings, just a vast expanse of bleak nothingness. Suddenly, someone tapped him on the shoulder. Harry slowly turned to see who it was.

It was Dumbledore.

"Professor?" said Harry.

But Dumbledore said nothing; instead, he extended his wand with his blackened, dead hand, and flicked. Instantly, the barren landscape became bright and colorful. An unsightly but welcoming house stood lopsided at the end of the lane, and chickens clucked and fluttered around nearby. He recognized the place - it was the Burrow - but he was uneasy; something did not feel right.

"Ah, there we are," said Dumbledore. "I thought you might like a change of scenery. I beg your indulgence for a moment, Harry. Do come with me."

Harry was startled, but started down the lane toward the Burrow. "Sir? What - er, what are you doing here?"

Dumbledore looked down at Harry through his glasses and smiled. "I am here to escort you to your trial."

Harry frowned. What trial? What had he done this time? "Sir? Er - what do you mean?"

"I am referring to your crime of the heart, Harry."

Now Harry was even more bewildered. "Sir, I don't understand."

Dumbledore stopped smiling. "You have broken Miss Ginny Weasley's heart, Harry. She loves you deeply, and she feels as if you have rejected her, not only as a companion but as a friend."

Harry felt a twisted burning in his stomach. So that's why they were going to the Burrow. "Professor...I'm sorry," started Harry, but Dumbledore held up a hand to interrupt. "You have done nothing wrong to me, Harry. You must tell Miss Weasley."

Harry and Dumbledore continued down the lane in silence, and with every step Harry felt queasy. They stopped just at the threshold of the door, where Dumbledore turned to Harry. "Harry, what do you know of Godric Gryffindor?"

This was a question he had certainly not given much thought to over the years; he had always supposed that if any queries came up he would just ask Hermione. "Not very much, sir," Harry admitted.

"When the four founders were building Hogwarts, it was Salazar who came up with the idea of dividing the students, but it was Godric who suggested the manner. He felt that there should be a way of determining what a student's aptitude was based on who they were as a person, and that each of them should take the students most like themselves."

Harry nodded, but was having trouble understanding what Dumbledore was trying to tell him.

Dumbledore gave Harry an appraising look. "Perhaps I am succumbing to another pitfall of age and not saying precisely what I mean. It is an unfortunate habit of mine - I tend to prattle," he sighed. "What do you take bravery to be, Harry?"

Harry thought a moment. "I guess it means not being afraid, sir."

Dumbledore shook his head sadly. "No, Harry. Bravery means recognizing your fear for what it is. It means putting it aside when there is important work to be done. Professor Lupin would be somewhat disappointed, Harry; you seem to have forgotten what you were afraid of."

Harry's thoughts suddenly rushed back to the beginning of his third year, when he had first encountered the dementors, and every time after that, and frowned. "I didn't forget, sir, I just...forgot," he explained lamely. "I don't ever try to think of being afraid. I know I'm afraid a lot, sir, but I try not to let it control me."

Dumbledore's expression cleared, and he smiled again. "That is more like it," said Dumbledore. "I think you are ready for your trial now."

He knocked three times on the old wooden door; it opened, and Dumbledore politely allowed Harry to enter first. Harry did so, and was greeted by the sight of the entire Weasley family sitting around the table, all of them looking extremely solemn and grave.

Harry's heart sank. He was not prepared to be interrogated by any of the Weasleys except for Ginny, let alone all of them. He nervously tried to smile and wave, but his hand merely flopped to his side. Not a single one of them acknowledged his presence. He looked at Ginny, and was shocked. Her eyes, Harry's favorite part of her, that were usually so bright and full of life, were empty. He expected to see a sign of _something_ - the sadness, or the anger, or the hatred - but they were dull and lifeless. Harry had never felt more miserable in his life.

He stood next to an open seat and waited to see if it was alright to sit, but Dumbledore, with a slight shake of his head, indicated that he ought to wait.

"All rise, court is now in session, the honorable Arthur Bilius Weasley presiding," came an offical-souding voice from nowhere. The family stood as one, and Arthur took his seat. When the rest of the Weasleys sat, Harry followed suit, aware that the chair he was sitting in was very hard and much too small.

"Ginevra Molly Weasley versus Harry James Potter, case number - " he paused to look at the court document " - one. You are charged with breaking the heart of one Ginevra Molly Weasley, youngest child and only daughter of Arthur and Molly Weasley," said Arthur blandly. Harry had never known Mr. Weasley to lack emotion, yet the way he was speaking was cold and indifferent, and it was almost frightening.

"Since each party has chosen to represent themselves, we will begin at once. Ginny, you may proceed," stated Arthur.

Ginny rose from her seat, with the same flat, blank expression, and started talking. "The day of Dumbledore's death, Harry told me that we couldn't be together anymore. He said that Voldemort would try to use me to get to him, and that he wouldn't be able to stand it if something happened to me because of him. I wanted to argue with him, to tell him that he was being stupid, because Voldemort would not care about anything like that, but I pretended to accept it. I made up a story about how I knew he wouldn't be happy unless he was hunting Voldemort. But it tore my heart apart. It actually hurt me. I couldn't sleep for a week. My mother found out what had happened, and it was her idea for this trial," she finished, returning to her seat.

Harry was stunned. He knew all this, of course; he had been there that day just as much as she had, but to actually hear what she was feeling was almost more than he could bear. He wanted to shout at her, to tell her that she was better off without him, that he was doing it to _protect_ her, not to abandon her, but he was filled with a pressing sadness that prevented an outburst.

"Thank you, Miss Weasley. Mr. Potter, what do you have to say in your defense?"

Harry rose to his feet shakily. He tried to clear his throat, but it was like swallowing sawdust. "There's only one thing I can say. Ginny, I know it hurts. I know you think I don't want you around. But that's not it at all. I do want you around, but with Voldemort still out there, it's too dangerous. That's what I said that day, and I still stand by it today. But there's one thing I think you should know. When this is all over - when I finally beat Voldemort once and for all - we'll be together again, I promise."

He inhaled to gather his courage. "Ginny, I love you."

It was like opening a windowshade and letting in the sunlight; Ginny's face suddenly brightened, and her eyes regained their color and sparkle. She smiled at him, and cried at the same time.

"Oh, Harry!" she cried, positively leaping over the table to grab Harry and hug him tightly. Harry felt immensely relieved, and was only too happy to return the hug.

Arthur rapped his gavel softly. "As the defendent has provided an adequate apology, in the matter of the crime of heartbreak we hereby find him not guilty by reason of forgiveness. Harry, you are free to go." The entire Weasley family broke out into applause.

Dumbledore, who had been standing the entire time, blinked and disappeared, to be replaced with Sirius. Harry gasped. "Sirius!"

"Congratulations, Harry," said Sirius, grinning.

"Thanks, Sirius," replied Harry. "But what are you doing here?"

"Came to say congratulations, of course. Not just for this, but for you growing up today. You realized two completely grown-up things today."

"What things?" asked Harry, curious.

"Well, for one, that bravery means standing up to your fears and going on anyway. You could have run away from this, really, Harry, and nobody would have stopped you, but you stood your ground. Godric himself would be proud," beamed Sirius.

Harry modestly tried to suppress a grin, but could not contain himself. "Thanks, Sirius. What was the other thing?"

"That love is the most powerful magic in the world."

Harry looked at his godfather with a swell of affection.

"You show 'em, Harry," said Sirius, suddenly taking on a graver tone. "You show 'em all, Harry. It doesn't matter what other people think of you. All that matters is that you make your life a good one," he sighed. "It's too bad I can't show you off to my brother. Then you'd show him that it doesn't matter if you're pure-blood or not."

Something in Harry's head _snapped_ as soon as he heard Sirius mention his brother. A vague image floated in his mind, and suddenly he was in Grimmauld Place, looking at the tapestry in the drawing room that showed the family history of the Blacks. A line that separated a burned-out hole with the name of another young man, killed too early.

_Regulus Alphard Black_, it read. _Regulus Alphard Black...Regulus Black...Regulus A. Black...R. Alphard Black...R.A. Black..._

_R.A.B._

Harry woke with a start, feeling flushed.


End file.
